Pride & Punishment

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series, and I reap no profit from this work.

"...and as you can see, Mr. Weasley, we are completely revolutionizing the Hogwarts disciplinary systems, more efficiently identifying problem students, and dealing with them in a much more lasting way than simple punishments such as doing lines."

Percy opened his mouth to favorably respond to Headmistress Umbridge's summary of the changing standards of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – and it's about time, he thought. But before he could get a word out, the pair was intercepted outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom by the school caretaker, Argus Filch, who came barreling down the corridor as quickly as his stiff legs would allow. Filch, stooped and wheezing, muttered something to Umbridge about pixies being set loose in the dungeon by some fourth-years.

Umbridge's toad-like face momentarily darkened, then resumed its previously sweet-natured expression. "Well then, I'll just run along to apprehend the troublemakers. If you're not in any hurry to return to London, perhaps you'll be able to witness the school's new policies in action." She turned to Filch. "Mr. Filch, would you mind taking Mr. Weasley to your office until I return? Perhaps you could demonstrate for him some of our new methods. I assure you he is most sympathetic." Filch, still breathing heavily, nodded his assent, and beckoned with one weathered hand for Percy to follow him.

Percy walked a few paces behind Filch, not knowing how to or if he even should attempt conversation. As Filch shut the door to his office, Percy realized that he had never really been alone with the caretaker. Even in his years as school Prefect and eventually Head Boy, most interaction with Filch had been in the presence of professors or of students facing their disciplinary sentences. As Percy walked, his mind turned to his encounters with Filch when he was a student. To say that Filch had been hated by the student body would be a gross understatement. But Percy understood Filch. He vehemently defended the caretaker to the other Prefects who argued from time to time that sending a student to Filch for detention was nothing short of cruel and unusual. Punishment is the just reward of bad behavior, Percy had reminded them, and it was no more than the students had deserved for disrespecting the school's rules.

Filch let Percy into his office with a perfunctory bow, and Percy stood silently for a moment, surveying the cramped, dingy room. He noticed with a start that the manacles on the far wall were no longer restrained by a locked chain, and looked as if they had been recently dusted and polished. "Mr. Filch, have you been...using these?" Percy asked, mouth agape, stepping forward for closer inspection.

"About time too," answered Filch, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes and a slight smile forming itself on his face. "That woman is the best thing to ever happen to this school. Lines! Detention! Never got through one bit into these kids' heads. The Headmistress, though, she understands proper punishment." He cut himself off, looking as if he were savoring the thought of this "proper punishment."

Percy, however, looked appalled – outwardly. Rule-breaking deserved punishment, certainly, but this amounted to torture. Inwardly, however, something was stirring with which he didn't think he was entirely comfortable. Punishment. Percy wondered what it would be like. As a Prefect he had doled it out, but he was never privy to its occurrence. Percy had never been bad, had never given the slightest indication that he ever would have considered such a thing as misbehavior. Even alone, he hated admitting the thought of it to himself – it felt too shameful, and too good. He was inwardly humiliated that he longed to be yelled at, dominated, told he was a bad boy and that he deserved it. Percy Weasley just wasn't that kind of man. But in Filch's office, with no company but the old caretaker and his torture devices, that hidden stirring inside of Percy snaked its way out of its hiding place and filled his body with sudden daring and desire.

Shifting his stance in a way that looked to the salivating caretaker like a delicious squirm, he muttered "I'm not sure the Ministry would approve – I mean, for schoolchildren, it's not - " He stopped when he realized Filch had been leering at him inspecting the restraints and clearly not listening to a word he had just said.

"Never put a toe out of line your whole life, have you Weasley? Never been punished?"

"No, sir," murmured Percy. Suddenly feeling confessional, he burst out, "But I've often thought about it. I guess I'm a little – a little afraid."

"Ohh, that's the best part. The fear." Filch had begun stroking the bullwhip which hung from his belt, Percy's gaze transfixed on his hand. "You can tell me. You want it, just once."

Swallowing hard and looking up to meet Filch's gaze, Percy made his decision.

"Yes."

Filch made no verbal response, but shuffled over the the heavy wooden door to his office, locking it with an ancient-looking brass key. Percy tried to hold back his apprehension, but Filch could nonetheless read it in his carriage, mingled with a delectable sense of wanting it. This one would be the most satisfying Weasley to have his way with, Filch decided.

"Take your robes off. I want you to bleed when I whip you."

Percy obeyed, folding his discarded clothing as neatly as his trembling fingers would allow and placing it at the edge of the desk. Filch gestured for him to stand facing the wall, and secured Percy's wrists in the manacles. The caretaker's hands were work-hewn, strong from years of manual labor, and his grip on Percy's slender forearms was bordering on violent. Percy was so close to the rough stone wall that his erection grazed its coarse surface, making him shiver with grating pain and teasing pleasure. "Have you been a bad boy?" Filch rasped in Percy's ear, his hot breath rank and moist against the younger man's neck. Percy only moaned imperceptibly in anticipation of what was to come.

His own erection straining against the front of his threadbare corduroys, Filch raised his bullwhip and, with a sadistic grin twisted on his face, brought it quickly, heavily against Percy's naked back. Every muscle in Percy's sinewy body clenched and he let out a howl as Filch struck with the whip again. Already Filch had drawn blood; Percy felt it trickle down the curve where his back met his ass, hot and sticky like the cum he knew would follow if Filch kept this up. God, it felt so good! His imagination could never compare to this searing pain that filled up his entire body, threatening to rip him to shreds.

"Tell – tell me - " Percy managed to bark out between moans.

"Tell you?" Filch stooped behind Percy, reaching around to cup and jostle his testicles. Percy jerked with the sudden touch, far rougher than he was used to having his balls handled. "Tell you – you've been – bad?" With each pause, Filch twisted and squeezed, sending Percy's lithe body into spasms. Unable to fully support himself with just his feet, he leaned a bit against the wall in front of him, feeling again the cool, harsh stone against his skin.

"No rest!" shouted Filch, pulling Percy back from the wall. "You think you deserve to rest? I'll teach you better." He replaced the heavy bullwhip with a much lighter one, made of long, thin strips which he knew would sting and cut much more better than the thicker leather. The whip made a cracking noise as it collided with the taut skin of Percy's back, and he let out an unrestrained howl.

Percy's face was blushing as red as the blood that trickled down his back. Yes, I've been bad, he thought. Punish me. I deserve it. God, the shame! He thought of his co-workers in the Ministry of Magic, if they could see him now, chained and degraded by the most hated man in Hogwarts. He pictured his old superior, Bartemius Crouch, Sr., viewing the scene with an expression of displeasure and disgust on his face – but even more than that, absolute disappointment. Here was Percy Weasley, young star of the Ministry of Magic, unblemished record at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, destined for promotion after promotion – Percy Weasley, who could never be entirely good within his own mind, utterly terrified of human failure, expressing his most secret shame in the filthiest corner of Hogwarts.

Filch snapped the whip at Percy again, this time connecting with his buttocks. Percy clenched his ass cheeks together as Filch brought the whip against him in pain. Sweat dripped from his face, glistening on his chest and mingled with the blood on his back, and his cock swelled until Percy feared it would burst.

Suddenly – a knock at Filch's door. "Mr. Filch, Mr. Weasley, are you in there?" called the girlish voice of Dolores Umbridge.

Percy whipped his head around and stared at Filch in horror. "Don't you worry about her, love. S'not the first time she's walked in on me whipping somebody."

Sure enough, the next thing Percy heard was Umbridge's "Alohomora," followed by the door creaking open. Percy registered with surprise that she appeared utterly nonplussed. "Ah. I apologize for interrupting. When you've finished with Mr. Weasley, I'll send Mr. Creevy and his companions in." With that, she turned on her heel and vanished as suddenly as she had appeared.

Normally, the expected response to the appearance of Dolores Umbridge would be for a man to lose his erection. Percy, on the other hand, felt so deliciously humiliated by being caught in the act that the blood blushing his face seemed to rush straight to his turgid member and when Filch resumed his whipping, Percy exploded. Mingled in his orgasm were his pride, his airs, his shame, every complex upon complex forming the core of Percy Weasley, all caught up with one another and pouring down the wall with his cum.

Percy was completely spent. He honestly didn't know if he would be able to stand unsupported. Suddenly gentle, Filch removed the manacles from Percy's wrists and led him to a coarse, threadbare chair in the corner of the room. "Would you mind, ah - " Filch gestured to the spot on the wall, embarrassed by his inability to do even a simple cleaning spell. "Of course." Percy pulled his wand out of his robes, still laid neatly on Filch's desk, and quickly cleaned it up. At least he still had the energy for basic spellwork, Percy thought. He would have to see to some healing spells when he returned to his flat in London. The blood was drying already, but Percy didn't want scars. No external symbols of his true desires. Filch respectfully turned his back, and Percy dressed himself gingerly. Wiping the beaded sweat from his face and hairline with a monogrammed handkerchief, he decided he looked about as presentable as he could given the circumstances, and, with a nod to Filch, let himself out of the office. Behind him, he saw Filch take Colin Creevy and two other Gryffindor boys into the office, locking the door behind him as he had with Percy.

Umbridge looked as if she were about to say something, but Percy intercepted her speech. "Let's never speak of this to anyone," he told her plainly, "and I'll write a most favorable report of the conditions at Hogwarts for the Minister."

Umbridge smiled serenely and said "Of course. Allow me to see you out."

Percy stopped only once on the walk out of the school, when he heard a boyish screaming from behind him that caused him to grimace. Save your reputation, a voice inside his head said. The Ministry doesn't need to know. No one needs to know.

Setting his face and his resolve in stone, Percy followed Umbridge out of the school, made his own way off of the grounds to a point where he could safely Apparate, and took himself back to London to start on his necessarily fallacious report.